Güd wrtr

Finally we both got to thank two of our newest ohana in person for their generous hearts and for literally bringing Dick back to life in January. Honolulu firefighter Salesi Maumau and his wife Eryn, both native Northern Californians, came to visit in Sacramento this past week, and we—lucky people that we are—got to sit with them over dinner and talk story, as they say in Hawaii.

They called us ohana, too, which brought tears to our eyes, that lovely Hawaiian word that means “family,” because Dick got to meet Salesi and Eryn at the Celebration of Life at the Honolulu Airport Feb. 15 (you can read about that here) and embrace them as loved ones for the first time. Aren’t they marvelous? Not only beautiful looking people, but lovely humans on the inside, too.

Eryn, Dick and Salesi at El Novillero in Sacramento… yes, Mexican food, one of the things the Maumaus miss about Sacramento!

We learned more about Salesi and Eryn over dinner:

• That they met at Sac State as business administration students. Eryn grew up with her family in Yuba City, and Salesi (who has Hawaiian roots) grew up with his family in Elk Grove.

• That they’re both college athletes: Salesi playing football, first at Franklin High School in Elk Grove, then at Sac City (go, Panthers!) and at Sac State (go, Hornets!). Eryn played volleyball at Sac State.

• Both of them were named to the Big Sky Conference’s all-academic team in college, Eryn named twice for volleyball, and Salesi and his brother Maika named for football.

• Not unlike Dick and his wife Mary Lou, who married in 1971 and then promptly moved to Oahu so Dick could work at the Honolulu Star-Bulletin newspaper, Salesi and Eryn also moved to Oahu after becoming engaged and married in Sacramento in September 2017.

Salesi Maumau at the Celebration of Life Feb. 15, 2019, in Honolulu

Salesi is a proud Honolulu firefighter who told us that while he had done CPR on people on the job before, he had never done so in public when he wasn’t working. Dick’s cardiac arrest was the first time Salesi jumped into action as a bystander. He was in line behind us (as was UC Davis Medical Center nurse Claudio Alvarado and his partner, Camron Calloway, who comforted me) at midday Jan. 15 when Dick pitched forward “like a domino,” Salesi told us later. Both Salesi and Claudio should have already boarded the plane before us, but to our great luck, they were on the spot when we needed them.

At the Celebration of Life in Honolulu Feb. 15: (from left) Eryn Maumau, Salesi Maumau, caretakers Connie Raub and Cora Johnson surrounding Dick, and Pam Foster of the AED Institute.

The day Dick and our friends Cora and Connie (who cared for Dick for two weeks in Honolulu after I had to return home) flew back to Sacramento, they were greeted at the airport with an impressive Celebration of Life. Pam Foster of the AED Institute had arranged a major celebration with speeches by Salesi and others. That day Salesi, looking official in his uniform and lei, told the group, “All I did was compressions.”

Pam Foster said, gesturing toward Salesi, “That’s what it’s all about.” Because without Salesi, without Claudio’s care, without Chris Ohta of Hawaiian Airlines running for the AED that shocked him back to life, there would be no Dick Schmidt.

Here’s the story from Dick’s former newspaper, now called the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. (If you click on the highlighted link, you can also see the newspaper’s video about the Celebration of Life.)

We brought a couple of small gifts to Salesi and Eryn at dinner. When Dick presented Salesi with an autographed roll of Lifesavers, Dick said, “Your photo should be on here.” And it should. There should be a special award, as well as a special place in heaven, for people who come out of their regular lives to help in such a meaningful way. We were delighted to connect in our town with Eryn and Salesi and to call them ohana… and we will happily meet them for dinner every time they come to town now. Our treat!

Salesi, Dick, Jan and Eryn—ohana

Blossoms everywhere all of a sudden, even as the on-again, off-again rains continue in our neck of the woods. And hearts leap out at us, too, on our daily walks around Woodside as Dick’s keeps on tickin’, stronger than it’s been in years.

We continue to walk around in wonder, hoping that this sense of awe lasts a while, looking at the world through eyes refreshed by the “almost”s. We are aware of the difficulties that so many around us are facing, and I do a lovingkindness meditation each morning, thinking of those people who are suffering, who are struggling. Dick has always been good about keeping a positive outlook, and watching him walk each day, gaining strength and confidence, does my old heart good, too.

On Wednesday he did three walks, driving himself (!) to Costco, hiking the parking lot to the store, and then moving through it to get what he needed (toilet paper for us, among other things… lots of TP!). Then he walked from his condo to the bank on the corner, and THEN he walked Woodside with me late in the day. He’s not a mileage kinda guy, so he has no idea how much territory he covered, but I’m pretty sure it was well over 2.5 miles all together.

Thank you all for your continued love and support, which we feel coming to us through the ether. May we all continue to hold each other in a tender, kind place as we walk in the world, as spring (or fall, depending on your hemisphere) arrives.

Dickie and the early spring blossoms

Did I tell you that I had a poem recently published in an online magazine called riverbabble? You can read it here:

http://www.iceflow.com/riverbabble/issue34/P-34-HAAG.HTML?fbclid=IwAR1bJcyde0RCSkk5-fDp9o_zotkvvhLZwsqasawlQBt0SK6BJFDQYLTt5jc

Or you can read it here:

Flying Saucer

That’s what he looked like in the murk of morning
filtering through saltwater—

and instantly I accorded the behemoth male status
because of size, because of weight made weightless—
because I, too, floated weightless near that ancient being
flippering so casually, parallel to the island,
as if he had no place he had to be, and neither did I
for a change,

two of us—one honu, one human—one of us truly alien
in this environment, the other not seeming to mind
an artificially flippered one tagging along,
interrupting his morning nibbles of tender limu
on volcanic remnants, each holding our breaths,
lifting our heads to the surface to snag some air
now and again, one of us marveling at the other
making his saucer-shaped way through his universe—

until I knew that to follow him would be at my peril,
for I was the malihini here, the stranger,

so I floated and watched his carapace
disappear into the sea where I hoped
he would, with luck, live his long turtle life,
and I, poor landlubber, would return to mine.

—Jan Haag

Honu, Kona Village, the Big Island, Hawaii (Photo by Dick Schmidt)

Dick walks Woodside, Sacramento, California

Two months ago today this man had a cardiac arrest in Honolulu. His heart stopped beating, and he stopped breathing. About three minutes later, thanks to the quick action of an off-duty nurse and firefighter, as well as a Hawaiian Airlines employee, he was shocked back to life with an airport defibrillator.

A month later, after a triple bypass and excellent after care by a couple of longtime friends, he flew home to Sacramento. Today he walked a little over a mile, as he has been doing pretty much daily since he returned home. I am so proud of Dick Schmidt, so pleased he is still with us, lending his kind self to the planet. He looks forward to being able to drive soon and get back to his recharged, far from ordinary, two-months-new life.

Tonight we had a phone chat with Claudio Alvarado, the UCD Medical Center nurse who helped bring Dick back to life. We noted the two-month-a-versary and thanked him once again, marveling at the circumstances that brought him and Honolulu firefighter Salesi Maumau (who grew up in Elk Grove and performed CPR on Dick) to be near us in line to board Hawaiian Airlines flight 20. We are eager to take them to dinner and celebrate our new friends who literally extended Dick’s life.

Because, as Dick’s shirt says, life is good!

For many years in my family the standard for good split pea soup was set by the folks down in Santa Nella in California’s great central valley at Pea Soup Andersen’s. That restaurant on Interstate 5 is not far from the original location in Buellton where Anton and Juliette Andersen set their first restaurant in 1924.

The Andersens (Anton, Robert T. and Juliette) in the early days

According to their website, three months in, they added pea soup based on a recipe made by Juliette’s family, which became the main attraction at Anderson’s Electrical Cafe (named for the business’s new stove) and for the two restaurants eventually called Pea Soup Andersen’s.

My family members excel in many areas, but cooking is not generally one of them. My Grandma Haag made great Swedish meatballs and brownies but did not generally hand down great cuisine genes to her children or grandchildren. Fortunately, my sister married Eric, who has been an adventurous cook for years, and when he gets together with our cousin Robyn, a home arts teacher and her husband, Johnny, a catering professional, some pretty creative food gets served to our family. (Thanks, you guys!)

I have often said that I will eat anything that Dick’s sister Margery puts on a plate. She doesn’t consider herself a fancy cook, but she hosts most of their family gatherings, which no one leaves unsatisfied.

All this is to say that I’m no Juliette Andersen. I consider myself cooking impaired and, if I’m being honest, someone who hasn’t taken the time to dive into the kitchen with great interest and a willingness to experiment. I’d rather go write a poem or read a book or take a walk. My friend Georgann loves to cook, and my late husband Cliff was an adventurous cook. When he was alive, we hosted a number of Thanksgivings, something I haven’t tried since. (Well, there was one disaster, and I gave up after that.)

But since Dick came home after a month in Honolulu recovering from his cardiac arrest in January and a triple bypass, what he wanted was soup. Good homemade soup. That arrived in the form of Jewish penicillin from our good friend Hilary Abramson and Marge’s split pea soup. They kept telling me—along with my good friend Lisa Morgan who is a fine cook herself—”Soup is easy.”

So I had Marge and Lisa talk me through how they do split pea soup (after looking up way too many recipes online). “Make it as simple as you possibly can,” I said. “As if you were talking to someone who barely knows where the stove is.”

And they did. Each of their instructions occupies a single square sticky note.

“I’m gonna try this,” I told Dick when we went to the store one day. (Store runs and daily walks are big outings for a guy who isn’t allowed to drive yet.)

He looked dubious. Not because he doesn’t have faith in me. “You’re so busy,” he said, which is true. “You want to add this to your list of things to do?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of the friends I admire (some of them men) who make their own soup. “How hard can it be?” And we laughed, of course, because usually that’s the sentence that spells the beginning of trouble.

We bought a package of split peas, wondering how they split them so perfectly down the middle. We bought low-sodium chicken stock and onion and carrots and celery. We bought a nice chunk of good ham from the deli section. And on the Sunday morning when we spring forward in California (after chopping the veggies the night before), I got up and put the veggies in the soup pot with some olive oil and sautéed ’em, as instructed, and then added all the chicken broth (as I wondered, “Are 32 oz. too many oz.s?”) and some water and left it all to simmer on the stove.

Then I went back to bed for a while. Dozed. Woke up realizing that it’s probably not smart to go back to bed with something cooking on the stove (though I do it when I’m baking Grandma’s brownies… of course, then I set a timer). Got up, flustered. Went back to the kitchen. Peeked at the soup. Stirred it, mostly for drill. Read the sticky notes again. “Crap,” I said to the cats who were sitting there watching me. (They’re not used to seeing me at the stove in the morning. Or at any time of day, really.) Lisa’s instructions said add fresh bay leaf. I forgot the bay leaf. Don’t have bay leaf. Decided not to go buy a bottle of ’em at 9-something a.m.—wait, no, 10-something a.m.—when I needed just one. Lisa said you just take it out before you eat the soup anyway.

Bay leaves

“Bay leaves are stupid,” I said to the cats. Then I went to the computer and Googled “why put bay leaf in soup” and read for a while. Apparently they are not stupid. “The bay leaf adds a slightly sweet, sort of tea-like note,” according to one article. Best to get fresh ones anyway. That wasn’t going to happen, so I crossed “bay leaf” off my instructions.

“We will imagine that there is bay leaf in the soup,” I told the cats, who looked unimpressed.

I stirred the soup a bit and watched it steam. I felt slightly more accomplished in the cooking arena and went to take a shower. In the shower I realized that I’d forgotten the ham at Dick’s house, even though the night before I said, “Please make me a sticky note that says ‘HAM’ on it in big letters, and put it on the door so I don’t forget to take it home with me.” I walked right out that door without HAM and this morning got an email from Dick saying, “You forgot the ham.”

Craaaaaaap.

Decided not to drive over to Dick’s to get it. It could be vegetarian split pea soup. Or I could add the ham when I got to Dick’s house later in the day. It would be an afterthought. Like the virtual bay leaf in the soup.

I was having trouble finding agreement between my on-the-ground experts and online sources about how long to simmer the soup. “A long time,” Marge had said.

“The longer it simmers, the mushier the peas get,” Lisa had said. That sounded good. No one wants hard peas in their soup. I went to the kitchen, lifted the lid and stirred. Yep, gettin’ good and mushy.

Jan’s First Split Pea Soup

Crap. Seasonings. Was it too late for seasonings? And what seasonings should I use? Fresh ones, the sticky notes said, which, of course, I didn’t have. All the online sources had different suggestions. I opened my spice cupboard, surveyed the little bottles, proud of myself for having bought new dried spices oh, when was it? Maybe three months ago? Couldn’t have been last summer, was it? Nah… three months ago tops. Cinnamon didn’t seem right. I settled on Seasoning Salute that had a bunch of stuff in it. Sprinkled with abandon and let the steam carry the good smells into my nostrils.

Went back to the computer and Googled “seasonings for split pea soup.” Read for a while. Googled Pea Soup Andersen’s and read about their history. I learned that in a book called “On the Back Roads: Discovering Small Towns of America,” author Bill Graves noted that the restaurant sold 500 to 600 gallons of pea soup in a day.  I looked at Andersen’s recipe: crumbled bay leaves. And a teeny bit of cayenne pepper. Huh. Other than that, pretty much everything I’d used. But oh, crap. That recipe advises you to wash the split peas first to “remove any stones or impurities.” Stones? There are stones in peas? And they don’t simmer their soup for hours. Maybe an hour and then use something called a “food mill” to “create the smoothest, creamiest texture.”

A food mill? Craaaaaaaap.

But I took heart and looked at my sticky notes again. Neither Lisa nor Marge has said anything about cayenne pepper or a food mill. Probably my soup would come out just fine. Wouldn’t it? It would, I decided, when I turned off the heat and left it on the stove to cool. It would be just fine.

And it was just fine. Better than I thought. Creamier. Thicker. Especially after I put it in plastic in the fridge. When Dick scooped it cold into the saucepan for dinner, it was the texture of mashed potatoes. Green mashed potatoes with orange bits of carrot peeking out here and there. We heated it up, added the ham and more seasonings out of Dick’s cabinet, and it went back to its soft, soup-like state.

And, as you can see from Dick’s smile in the photo at the top, we very happily each ate a bowl of Jan’s First Split Pea Soup. We think it is as good as Andersen’s, but we may be a wee bit biased. There is more to eat tomorrow and tomorrow, too. We may get sick of split pea soup, but right now, I am basking in the glow of a small accomplishment.

I made soup for my sweetie, and I can live on that smile for a long time to come.

“Clang clang clang went the trolley…” 🚃 Dick’s not quite old enough to remember riding the trolleys in Sacramento when they used to run all over Sacramento (they were in use from 1895–1947, according to William Burg’s good book, “Sacramento Streetcars”). But he loves sitting in a reproduction of one at the Old Spaghetti Factory on a fiercely rainy night.

We well know that a little bit of pasta and minestrone soup helps with the healing!

This makes me smile… how old-fashioned/old folkish/plain old corny to eat at a chain restaurant that Dick loves and go home bearing containers with our initials on them. Our foodie friends no doubt would point us to other pasta places. And yet… what a bit of sweetness to see those containers with the familiar logo snuggled together in the fridge, the angel hair topped with meat and Mizithra sauces inside portents of meals to come.

For a moment last month I thought we might never be an “us” again. Yet here we are. So much sweetness on these cold, wet winter days. So much warmth.

#gratefulforsecondlifetimes

Every day since returning from our recent Hawaiian adventure, Dick and I set out on foot across Woodside, the former walnut orchard-turned-condo-complex where he has lived since the 1970s. Long ago he developed a roughly two-mile walking path through his neighborhood, which still has the feel of a lovely park, complete with duck pond and old walnut trees mixed in with many varieties of newer ones.

Every spring the man whose niece and nephew dubbed Uncle Duck many years ago goes walking to look at the mallards that land on the duck pond, some of whom lay eggs there. It’s always a treat to find the baby ducks waddling behind their mamas, bobbing like little yellow fluff balls on the pond.

Uncle Duck with empty duck pond: “Where have all my buddies gone?”

Right now the pond is pau, as they say in Hawaii—kaput, done—though it’s really resting  as so many things do in winter. There is clearly extensive repair work being done on the duck pond, but that didn’t stop Uncle Duck from taking a moment to pose in it on a special day.

Today is the month-a-versary of Dick’s bypass surgery: His reborn heart is a month old. And with that recharged heart, he walked a slow but steady 1.9 miles throughout Woodside today.

We continue to be grateful (and write thank you notes) to the many people on Oahu who were so kind to us during our extended stay there. We wouldn’t be here, walking around smiling at the most ordinary things, without them.

Here’s to many more miles logged around his ‘hood as our Duck continues to grow stronger!

Welcome home, Dick Schmidt!

Dick is home and spent the holiday weekend taking walks in between naps and eating a bit more, including Hilary Abramson’s chicken noodle soup (i.e., Jewish penicillin!). We are big fans of homemade soup!

He’s spending more time up reading and communicating with people, and he’s so happy to be back in his regular life… as am I. Never have we felt so lucky to have more time on the planet, together and with other loved ones.

Walking Woodside… about a half a mile now, which will increase with time.

Here’s to many more walks and time in the sun for us—and we are thankful for all of you who’ve been so supportive and kind on our journey.

Not likely to exceed the speed limit… yet!